


To Make a Home

by bluebellsandcocklesshells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homelessness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6740047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebellsandcocklesshells/pseuds/bluebellsandcocklesshells





	1. The Subway Car

_Gross_.

Castiel looked down at the puddle of vomit on the floor of the subway.  It was one of the tradeoffs of taking New York City public transportation at five in the morning.  The cars were less crowded and it was possible to actually get a seat, but all the people who had been out partying until 4:00am had just finished their rides home, leaving presents behind that hadn’t had a chance to be cleaned up yet.

Castiel walked to the far end of the car to be away from the sight and the smell and took a seat on one of the light blue benches.  Across from him a man was slouched in his seat, leaning against the metal railings of the end of the bench, clearly asleep.  At least he looked like he was, but he was wearing dark black sunglasses so it was impossible to see his eyes.  Considering they were underground and hidden from the sun, Castiel suspected the glasses were for blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights of the subway car so that he could sleep rather than look cool or spy on people.

The train pulled into the next stop and two people got on his car.  One moved away from the vomit, but still left space between herself and Castiel.  The other guy just sat down and ignored the puke three feet from his toes.  Castiel looked back at the sleeping man.

He had a pretty face.  He could see that much even with the glasses blocking a good portion of it.  It had good symmetry and his features were the right size and in the right places to be a portrait artist’s wet dream.  He’d dated a portrait artist once.  The dick had complained that Castiel didn’t have a good face for painting.  Castiel had countered with the fact that he didn’t have a good dick for riding.  They promptly broke up.

This guy though, man, Bartholomew would have loved him.  Castiel didn’t care too much about his facial features, but those lips…geezus fuck those were cock sucking lips.  He was certain the guy would be annoyed if not downright angered by the description (even if he did enjoy sucking cock), but the description was apt.

Since he had nothing else to do during the four minute ride between express stations, he allowed himself to more closely examine the man.  He appeared to be tall, based on how bent his legs were even though his feet were splayed pretty wide.  His crotch was exposed for everyone to see and unless it was simply the way his jeans were bunched up, he had a fairly large endowment if it could be seen through the thick fabric while flaccid.  His body type was hard to discern as he seemed to be in several layers, including a large leather coat.  Broad shoulders filled the jacket and his thighs were slim, but athletic in his snug jeans.  A black leather cord hung around his neck, though Castiel couldn’t tell if there was a pendant on it or not.  His hair was short and could have been light brown or dirty blond, and looking at it now he realized that the man’s hair was greasy and dull.

Castiel allowed his eyes to travel over the man again, this time without his appraising (and slightly pervy) gaze.  The holes at the knees of the man’s jeans, which Castiel originally thought were for fashion, were now apparently there from being worn with use.  The rest of the pants were threadbare almost everywhere.  The ankles were stained very dark and there were faded spots all over that appeared to be from inadequate attempts at hand washing them out.  There was evidence that he was wearing three different plaid shirts under his jacket.  It was November, but not nearly cold enough to merit that many layers.  More than likely he was wearing them all so he wouldn’t have to carry them.  The jacket, while looking in better shape than the rest of his clothes, had a tear at the left shoulder.  His boots were worn so thin that Castiel knew it would be a matter of weeks before the soles developed holes in them.

Castiel felt a little sad as he realized that the man—who looked much younger than he had originally thought—must be homeless.  His first clue should have been the fact that the man was able to sleep so deeply while half sitting up on a subway car.  It took a certain degree of weariness to manage that, and people who slept safe in comfortable beds generally couldn’t do more than snooze between stops.

The train began to pull in to the station where Castiel would need to disembark to make his transfer.  He wished he’d grabbed something from a deli on his way to the station so that he could leave some food for the man.  He stood up and reached into his pockets for his wallet.  In the front left pocket, he felt the twenty dollar bill he’d left in there from the last time he’d worn his Chinos to the gallery.  Normally he wore a suit, but today he was going to be mostly in the back cataloguing the new arrivals.

The train jerked to a halt, and Castiel had to grab onto a pole to stay upright.  The jarring motion also woke up the young man who snorted and put his hands up in a defensive manner.  The motion was more like a faux-karate chop move than an instinctual flinching away from an attack.  Castiel hoped that meant the young man wasn’t subjected to abuse on the streets on a daily basis.  It also meant he wouldn’t have to awkwardly tuck the money in the sleeping man’s pocket.

The doors opened and a few people trickled on as Castiel worked up the nerve to step forward and thrust out his hand.  The young man looked in his direction (it was hard to tell if he was looking right at him because of the glasses), and Castiel nudged his hand forward.

“Good luck today,” Castiel said as the man accepted the twenty.  Then he ran off the subway car.  He glanced back as the doors closed and the saw man raise the sunglasses up as he looked at what was in his hand.  He looked out the window and Castiel saw he was even more beautiful without the sunglasses obscuring his face.  He gave a small smile and then the train pulled out of the station.

Castiel knew it was ridiculous to feel sad about the fact that he would never see the man again, but he had been rather maudlin since his breakup with Bartholomew.  And that had been months ago.  Maybe now was the time to get over it and move on.  Hell, maybe he’d pick up his paints again and see what came out of him.  He had ideas about green eyes, but there was no way he actually knew what color those surprised, grateful eyes had been.  He hadn’t been close enough.  But he could picture them in his mind.  Yeah, during his break today, he was going to start mixing paints and see if he could find the right shade of green.

**Two Years Later**

Castiel walked through the gallery, pleased with the turn out to the “New Talents Gala” they were hosting.  They had pieces from eight very talented artists, who if they took off would officially be considered “discovered” by Garrison Galleries.  And if one or two of the gallery owners’ pieces had made it into the show, no one had to know.  Anna had two or three pieces and so did Balthazar.  Castiel had allowed one of his pieces to be shown: _Random Act of Kindness_.  It was a large, long oil painting of a pair of green eyes.  Castiel knew why it was special to him, but he couldn’t believe that other people found it to be so “full of raw emotion” and “deeply spiritual.”  It was just a painting of an imagined memory.

“Castiel?” Anna called out to him.  He turned and smiled at his cousin.  They kissed cheeks by way of greeting.

“Hello, Anna.  The turnout is great, huh?”

“It’s amazing.  We’ve already sold two of Raphael’s pieces.”

“Really?  Huh.  I guess rage and patriotism make a good combination after all.”

Anna smiled wryly.  “A profitable one anyway.  But, I was looking for you because somebody came in asking for you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.  Some man was wandering around looking at the art, and I asked him if he was interested in anything, and he asked if you still worked here.”

“ _Still_ worked here?  So, he knows me then.  Oh, god, it’s not Bartholomew, is it?”

“No, no, I’d recognize that loser.  Sorry.”  Cas shrugged; he didn’t disagree.  “This is someone I don’t recognize at all.  But he’s hot.”

“How hot?”

“Like hot enough that you should stop talking to me and go to the Shurley wing.  I think he’s staking out the hors d'oeuvres table.”

Castiel smiled.  “The mini pigs in a blanket _are_ delicious.”

“Yes, yes, you and Balthazar found delicious food but I was hoping for something a little classier than taquitos and mini Philly cheese steaks.”

“Well, we don’t want to come off as pretentious.”

Anna laughed and walked with him to the other side of the gallery.  Just as they arrived, they were stopped by a couple looking to discuss one of the pieces.  Anna said she would take care of it and pointed out the man who had asked after him.  He had his back to Castiel, but he was tall and had broad shoulders that filled out his suit coat quite nicely.

Castiel made his approach in an arc so that he wouldn’t come up directly behind the man.  This enabled him to see the guy stuffing a taquito in his mouth while he appeared to still be finishing the first (or eighth, who knew?).  He waited for the man to finish chewing, swallow, and wipe his lips off with a napkin, but stepped close before he could reach for more food.

“Hello.”

The guy started almost guiltily, but then straightened when he saw Castiel.  And damn.  Anna had downplayed how attractive this guy was.

“I’m Castiel Novak.  I heard you were looking for me?”

The man started to reach out with a hand, and then wiped his fingers off on the napkin and tossed it into an artfully designed trashcan at the end of the table.  Then he stuck out his hand again and Castiel shook it.  He had a firm, strong handshake; always a good sign.

“My name’s Dean Winchester.  I’m glad I found you.”

Castiel smiled, not sure why the statement made him so pleased.  Then he tilted his head as he looked at his face.

“I’m sorry, Dean, this is unconscionably rude, but he have we met before?”

“Well, kinda.  But not really.  See, uh, a couple years ago I was…really down on my luck I guess is the expression.  I was homeless and barely scraping by with soup kitchens and panhandling.  And one day, even though I wasn’t asking for anything, this guy on the same subway car as me saw that I needed help.  So, he gave me a twenty dollar bill.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up.  “Holy fuck.  It’s you.  I remember you.”  He remembered those lips for sure.  He shook his head slightly and forced himself to focus on the emotion behind the warm smile.

“I wondered if you would remember.  I honestly didn’t think you would, but I wanted to find you and thank you.  Your actions that day saved me.”

Castiel smiled.  “I’m glad, really, but how could twenty dollars possibly have done anything for you?  I should have done more, I should have—”

“Castiel, you did plenty.  Because the money isn’t what saved me.  I spent it all immediately.  Such a waste.  I found a diner and gorged on a huge breakfast and coffee.  Sweet, merciful coffee.”

Castiel laughed.  “I do find that I’m a little obsessed with the stuff too.”

Dean nodded.  “So, as I sat there, eating very, _very_ slowly, I felt full for the first time in…a very long time.  And I realized it had only happened not because I had twenty bucks, but because some person thought I was worth the time it took to hand me that twenty bucks.”

“Dean, you’re worth more than—”

“Wait, wait.  Let me finish.  I’m not good at this—” he waved his hand around, “sappy crap.  Basically, your…kindness…toward me that day made me realize that there are people out there who would give me a chance.  That just because I hadn’t found any yet, didn’t mean they weren’t out there.  So, I went looking for someone to help me.  Not to give me a handout or temporary shelter.  But someone who would give me a shot at getting back on my feet.  Or well, getting on my feet in the first place.  

“I mean, I got shot down a lot, you know, but I kept holding onto the thought that there would be another you out there somewhere.  Well, maybe not a hot guy with huge blue eyes—”  Dean cut off as he seemed to realize what he was saying, and then he pressed on like he was going to pretend it hadn’t happened.  “But somebody who could spare a minute to talk to me.  I met a man named Benny.  He gave me a job washing dishes.  And then he let me wait tables on day shifts.  And then he taught me a few things so that I could become a line cook.  Now, he’s helping me go to culinary school so that I can be his sous chef.”

Castiel could feel that his face was stretched into a wide grin.  He hoped he didn’t look creepy or something.

“That’s fantastic, Dean, congratulations.”

The young man rubbed the back of his head.  “Yeah, it’s not that impressive.  Still gotta long way to go.  I actually had this dr— _goal_ of finding you and being able to offer you dinner at my own restaurant, but I got a little impatient.  I figured the fact that I can shower in my own apartment and afford that overpriced crap at Starbucks everyday was progress enough.  I really wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t helped me that day.  And I don’t just mean here in this gallery, I mean like, _here_.  So, thank you.”  He rubbed the back of his neck again.  “You saved my life,” he mumbled.

Castiel reached out to take his hand and held it in both of his.  “Dean, I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am that you’re standing here in front of me.  I can’t believe that what I did had such a huge impact, but it’s amazing to see you doing so well.  It’s amazing to see you again at all.  How did you find me?”

“Oh.  Well…”  Dean pulled his hand back gently, allowing their fingers to brush together.  Then he reached into his back pants pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet.  He opened it and plucked out a business card that was worn and dirty and faded, but Castiel recognized it.  “This was folded up in the twenty.”

Castiel took the card from him.  It was one of his old business cards from when he was just a curator for Garrison Galleries.  He was a co-owner now, but the gallery hadn’t changed addresses.  He looked up at Dean.

“I must have had some in my pocket from the last art show I attended.  One must have slipped into the twenty.”

Dean’s smile wilted just a little around the edges.  “Oh.  I thought you had given it to me on purpose.  Guess I’m glad I didn’t track you down sooner and ask for more help.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—I’m grateful you found me.  And if you had come to me sooner when you still needed help, I would have done so gladly.  I just didn’t know I had any business cards on me that day.  I wasn’t wearing pants that I would normally keep any in.  It’s rather serendipitous.”

Dean gave him a lopsided smile.  “Is that just a fancy way of saying kismet?”

Castiel dropped his eyes and smiled, not able to maintain eye contact with Dean when he looked so adorable.  He handed the card back to Dean who promptly put it back in his wallet.

“I suppose it is,” Castiel said.  Then he reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a crisp, current business card.  “If you’d like, this one has my current information on it.”

Before Dean could take it, he pulled it back quickly and retrieved a pen from his inner jacket pocket.  He quickly scrawled his cell phone number and personal email on the back.  Then he handed it to Dean.

“In case you want to get in contact with me again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Just, uh, don’t wait two years again, okay?”

Dean grinned.  “I was thinking more like…two hours.  This thing will over by then, right?”

“Yes.”  Castiel didn’t even check his watch; even if it wasn’t officially over, it would be over for him.

“Great.  I know this place that makes killer Cajun food.  Entrees are less than twenty bucks.”

Castiel smiled and let out a small laugh.  Then he ran his lower lip through his teeth as he allowed his eyes to roam over Dean.  A couple years older and well fed, he was even more stunningly beautiful.  Dean’s eyes were tracking the movements of his lips, and then they made eye contact.

“You know,” Castiel said, “they really don’t need me here.”

“Well, if you’re sure—”

“I’m sure.”

Dean smirked.  “Alright then.  What say you to getting out of here, Castiel?”

“I’d like that very much.”

Dean and Castiel fell into step beside each other as they made their way through the gallery.

“So, Castiel, am I saying that right?  Been wondering for two years now.”

“Yes, that’s correct.  But people call me Cas.”

“Cas, huh?  Well it’s not—”  Dean stopped walking abruptly.  Castiel stopped too and turned to see what he was looking at.  And there was his painting on the wall: bright green eyes with flecks of gold and a look of incredulous gratitude.

Castiel looked back at Dean, and really looked in his eyes for the first that evening.

“Hmm.  Pretty spot on, Cas.”  Dean smiled at him cheekily.  “You been pining after me for two years then?”

“What?”  Castiel blushed.  “No.  I just made a guess.”

“Good guess,” Dean said wryly.

“Didn’t you say something about Cajun food?”

Dean laughed.  “Yeah, I did.  Come on.”

Castiel moved to follow Dean and was wary of the twinkle in his eye.

“I’ll let this be my reciprocal act of kindness that I let your creepy eye painting slide.”

“Creepy?” Castiel asked indignantly.  “Who’s the one with a mangled business card tucked away in his wallet?  How many times over the last two years did you walk by this gallery and not go in?”

Dean’s smile froze and he hurried outside the gallery doors to hold one open for them.

“Ah ha!” Castiel said.  “How many, how many!”  He nudged Dean playfully.

Dean batted at his arm, but didn’t move away from him.  “How many times did you have to start over until you found ‘just the right shade of green?’”

Castiel laughed and Dean grinned and they playfully shoved at each other until they almost mowed down an old couple.  Then they settled down, walking close, hands brushing as they navigated the busy New York City sidewalks.

Anna watched from just inside the gallery as Castiel walked down the sidewalk with the handsome stranger—leaving a good three hours before the show’s end.  Hannah appeared beside her.

“I didn’t know Castiel had a boyfriend,” Hannah said.

“He doesn’t,” Anna replied.  Then she smiled.  “But I bet he will by tomorrow.”


	2. The Restaurant

Castiel flicked the cord on the ancient telephone that still served as their primary mode of communication at Garrison Galleries.  Oh, they had upgraded their inventory and ordering and marketing to be electronic.  They even paid a young hipster web designer to manage their website for them.  But whenever they had business to discuss and didn’t have the option of meeting in person, they preferred to be able to speak to someone and hear their voice as opposed to reading an email where it was nearly impossible to determine someone’s frame of mind.  As such, they still had a landline and since the phone the original owner had installed in the 80’s still worked, they saw no reason to upgrade.

The large receiver was a pretty hideous mauve color and had felt huge in his hands during the aughts when the cell phone revolution had been about who could make the smallest device.  Today, it didn’t feel so different.  Thicker of course, but the stretch of his fingers was about the same.  He was currently listening to some staticky elevator music and had decided that he was going to hang up after another five minutes.  He’d been on hold for about fifteen minutes, which wasn’t the longest he’d ever stayed on hold, but he did have other things to do today.

“Hello, Mr. Novell?”

“Uh…yes?”  He didn’t bother to correct the woman.

“I apologize for the wait.  He doesn’t have his own desk, so he’s difficult to track down.  Unfortunately, he is currently out of the office.  Can I take a message?”

Cas sighed.  Was this really worth the effort?  Yes, it was.  He was certain.

“Yes.  Can you please ask him to call Castiel Novak at Garrison Galleries?  My number is 212-XXX-XXXX.”

“I will surely give him that message.”

“Thank you.”

Castiel hung up and sat forward in the squeaky desk chair to jiggle the mouse and wake up the computer.  They had finally upgraded to a flat screen monitor a few months ago.  The tower was still ancient as fuck, which he was fighting to replace.  With Zachariah retired it was easier for the march of technology to sweep them up in its wake, but Anna, Balthazar, Hannah, and heck, even he himself, were all traditional medium artists and had avoided anything technology related in college.  He was seriously considering taking Meg Masters up on her offer to work with them.  She was kind of amazingly crazy.  She’d just walked into the gallery one day and explained why they needed to hire her.  Her familiarity with technology, business, law, and graphic design were definitely things they could use.  With Zachariah gone things were a little more pleasant, but he’d also been the one who handled all the business and legal…stuff.  Okay, if he didn’t know the proper term for the business and legal stuff, they probably did need someone with more knowhow in those areas.

Castiel did know how to open the company’s email at least.  As usual, there was a ranting note from Raphael about how they were underselling him.  He’d like to tell the guy to fuck off, but his art did pay the bills so that they could also bring in more avant-garde and unknown artists.  Fortunately there was a niche market for rage-filled patriotism and the people that liked it were willing to pay pretty extravagant prices for it.

The email after that was Zachariah asking for a weekly (yes, freaking weekly) report on the gallery’s status.  He was retired, but he still owned it.  He decided he’d let Hannah handle that one since she was the most even-tempered of the bunch and would be able to respond to his questions without obscenities.

The next few were inquiries from aspiring artists with attachments of their work.  He glanced at the thumbnails, but wasn’t really in the mood to do any close examinations, so he saved them to the “Review” folder which everyone was allowed to peruse at their leisure.  If at the end of the month all the employees had copied one particular artist’s works to their personal favorites folders, they would contact the person about coming in and presenting their work to them so they could determine if they wanted to show it in the gallery.

Castiel moved the last attachments and was grateful the inbox was empty.  Sometimes it could take over an hour to clear the thing, and then a new message popped up.  Castiel made a face, and then saw that it was from his boyfriend, Dean.  He smiled and opened it.

_Turn around_ , was all it said.

Castiel turned and looked behind him.  There was nothing but the back wall of the office and some filing cabinets.

“Other way, you nitwit.”

Castiel swiveled back around (the long way) and saw Dean standing in the doorway of the office.  Strong, beautiful, proud, brave—nearly seven years his junior but they didn’t need to think about that.  Castiel got to his feet and walked over to Dean, not stopping until he was pressed against him in a grabby hug.  Dean chuckled and put one casual, proprietary arm around his waist.

“Heya, Cas.  You want a free lunch?”

Castiel pulled back with a grin.  “Are you cooking?”

“Uh…no.  Sorry.”  Castiel pouted.  “Sorry, babe, this is just a quick break.  We’re down to the wire for opening night of Subway Car and I was just taking a quick lunch break and hoping I’d be able to spend a little time with you.  You know, when the restaurant opens, we probably won’t see very much of each other for a few months.”

Castiel slumped into his side as they walked out the office, Dean not complaining that he had to slightly hold Cas up and guide him through the stark white halls of the galleries.  They were in between shows at the moment.

“Dean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so proud of you for finishing school and having the ambition and drive to open a new restaurant and for not being an ass and accepting my loan so you could lease the place, but I don’t want to be apart from you just so that your stupid dreams can come true.”

Dean smiled and squeezed the hand that was on his waist.  “I’m trying to figure out how to ‘get you right’ after that.”

“I wish I could be less of an asshole, but it’s not in my nature,” Castiel replied airily.

“Hmm.  That’s why I love you.”

“Because I’m an asshole?”

“Because you’re you.”

Cas blushed and grinned and floated down the stairs of the gallery to the gross New York City sidewalk.  He had the greatest boyfriend to ever boyfriend.

They continued down the sidewalk, holding hands, and talking idly about the show Garrison Galleries was preparing for the next month.  The gallery was on Madison Ave at about the point where midtown switched to the Upper East Side.  Dean’s new restaurant was on 3rd Ave in midtown around the mid 40’s.  It wasn’t Times Square, but it was a pretty damn prime location and the lease of two floors of the building had been outrageous.  Fortunately with the help of bank loans and Castiel putting up a large down payment from the sale of a painting by a little known, but now dead artist that had done extremely well at auction, Dean had been able to secure the spot and began renovations six months ago.

He’d graduated culinary school with top marks and offers from two of the instructors to cook for them a couple of years prior, but he had elected to stay loyal to his best friend, Benny.  The man who had given him a chance and a job at his Cajun inspired restaurant downtown when Dean had just been a kid and homeless.  Six years later he and Benny were closer than ever and he didn’t begrudge Dean wanting to try to strike out on his own and open his own place.  Castiel had been with him for four of those years and he knew Dean was financially responsible, business savvy, good with people, and the best fuckin’ chef on the planet.  Dean was going to succeed without a doubt and more than likely become one of those famous chefs who guest judged on TV cooking competitions.

It was over a one mile walk between Garrison Galleries and the future site of Subway Car, but neither Dean nor Cas minded the time they got to stroll together, jaywalking, crossing against lights, avoiding tourists.  It was all part of the New York City lifestyle.  And it was more pleasant than taking the subway.

“Why did you pick the name Subway Car?” Cas asked as they walked from Lexington to 3rd Ave.  “People associate the subway with misery and rats and vomit.”

“I don’t,” Dean said.  “I can make people reevaluate that notion.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Besides, you wouldn’t let me name it The Impala.”

“Had I known your backup was Subway Car, I would have agreed to a wimpy deer.”

“One, it’s a car, jerkface.  And two, the menus are already printed, so deal with it.”

“Let me see one.”

“Nope.  Not till opening night.”

“Come on~~nnn.”

“Nope.”

As they approached the Subway Car’s storefront, which was covered in brown paper with the message that a new restaurant was coming soon in Fall 2015, Dean tugged on his hand and led him across the street.

“We’re not eating there?” Cas asked, perplexed but following his boyfriend.

“It’s not open yet.”

“But the kitchen is installed.  You told me you’d already started testing it.  You’re opening in a week.”

“I know, but I’m not cooking you lunch in it.  This is my break.  We’re going to eat at Minar.”

Castiel frowned.  He loved the Indian food at Minar, but about six weeks ago, Dean had suddenly started acting very secretive about the goings on at his new restaurant.  Initially, he had asked Castiel’s opinion on everything, but lately he’d been tightlipped and hadn’t even allowed Castiel to step foot inside it to see the progress.

“Can’t I at least see what the kitchen looks like?”

“Mm…I don’t have time today.  Sorry.”

“I’m not asking you to take more time than the forty minutes it already took round trip to walk up and get me if you’re in such a hurry,” Castiel said testily.  “You can go back to work inside.  I won’t bother you if I just take a peek.”

“Yeah, well…there’s still a lot of construction.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Construction?  A week out?  Dean, you won’t be able to open in a week if they’re still building it.  You have to have time to train your wait staff and decorate—”

“I know,” Dean said, sounding like he was trying but sort of failing at not getting short with him.  “It’s under control.  We just can’t go.  Aren’t you hungry?  Don’t worry about it.  Tell me more about this new artist you’re showcasing next month.”

Castiel relented, but he felt hurt by the rebuff.  Their conversation was slightly strained and when they parted ways, they only gave each other a perfunctory peck on the lips.  Castiel walked back to Garrison Galleries nearly in tears.

~~~

“He’s going to dump me,” Castiel sniffed, allowing his head to fall onto his arms.

He was in the break room at Garrison, crying into his third tissue, and leaning heavily on the table that his coworker friends were trying to eat their lunch on.

“Oh, do stop being so melodramatic, Cassie,” Balthazar sighed in a put upon manner.  “You know how sickeningly in love you are with him, and trust us when we say that he’s got it worse than you.”

“He doesn’t.  Not anymore.  Maybe he was excited when we first met, but now he realizes he’s dating a man in his thirties who doesn’t know anything about good music and hates pie and he’s still just being nice because he feels…obligated to me for helping him all those years ago.”

“For crying out loud,” Hannah said, letting Castiel know he was being really bad if even she was exasperated with him.  “He doesn’t feel obligated to you.  You gave him twenty bucks six years ago.  He’s a self-made man.  He owes you nothing.”

“Exactly,” Anna chimed in.  “He’s with you because he loves you.”

“Nope,” Castiel moped.

“Okay then,” Balthazar said, “let’s assume you’re right.  Dean is tired of your sad-sack old man ways and wants out.”

“Balthazar,” Anna scolded and Hannah tsked at him.

“What’s your evidence?”

Castiel raised his head.  “What?”

“What evidence do you have that Dean is desperately searching for the lighting on the floor leading to the exits?”

Castiel propped his chin on his hand as he thought.

“Well, this testimony is damning,” Balthazar said after a moment of silence.  Hannah and Anna snickered.

“Shut up, there is proof.”

“Like what?  Has he stopped showing interest in sex?”

“No…”  In fact, just last night they’d had some pretty enthusiastic and acrobatic sex.

“Has he stopped showing interest in your life?”

“No…”  In fact, he had been more than willing to listen to Castiel talk about the new talent they’d found for their next show.

“Has he started expressing interest in other people?”

“No…”  In fact, the only people Dean ever talked about was his friend Benny and a guy named Garth who was a regular at the homeless shelter Dean volunteered at on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“So, then what is the problem?” Anna asked.

“He’s cutting me out of his life.”

There was a chorus of scoffing noises.

“I mean it!  I’ve hinted, _strongly_ hinted, at least seven times in the last two years that I want to move in together.  But he always changes the subject or makes a joke about it.”

“Doesn’t he sleep at your place every night already?” Hannah asked.

“Aren’t all of his clothes basically in your apartment now?  You complain about closet space often enough,” Balthazar said dryly.

Okay, so yeah, they basically already did live together, which was the predominant focus of Dean’s jokes.  But there was other stuff.

“He won’t let me see his restaurant.  He won’t even talk about it anymore.  His restaurant is his life right now, and if he won’t share that with me then he’s not sharing his life.  He’s trying to keep me out of it.”

Balthazar chuckled.  “I feel like the Scottish dog in _Lady and the Tram_ p.”

He got three confused looks from his friends who did not follow that non-sequitor.

“You know, when Lady is upset because her owners are acting strangely?  And the Scottish dog tells her it’s nothing bad, just that they’re expecting.”

“I don’t think Dean is pregnant,” Castiel groused.

“Perhaps not.  But perhaps you should have a little more faith in him.  I mean, if you truly love him.”

Castiel frowned.

“The restaurant opens in a week, right?  Give him a week.  See what happens when he gives birth to his restaurant.”

“Gross,” Hannah said and put down her sandwich.

“It was a metaphor, darling.”

“It referenced childbirth.  During lunch.”

Hannah and Balthazar continued to bicker, and Castiel was still in his funk.  Anna reached out a hand and patted his, giving him a reassuring smile.  He supposed he had one more week of happiness before the end.  He might as well live out that reverse cowboy fantasy he’d been harboring for a while.

~~~

It was the day before Subway Car’s grand opening, and Dean was still complaining about the crick in his neck from 69-ing Castiel for over an hour the night before.  
“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean said, slightly smirking as he used Cas’ turn of phrase, “I enjoyed it, but what made you decide this week was the week we had to pull all of the toys out of the kink box?”

Castiel shrugged, trying to feel sullen even though he was floating pretty high from the flush of lazy morning sex and holding his sweetheart’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Well, whatever it is, I appreciate it, but we might need to tone it down for the next couple of weeks.  Well, maybe days.  This place will practically run itself.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel griped half-heartedly.  “Haven’t even seen it.”

Dean smiled.  “That changes today.”

Castiel hadn’t even been paying attention to where they were, but he realized now that they were in front of Subway Car.  The paper was gone and the lights were on inside.  Dean pulled out the keys to the front door and started to unlock it.

“Wanna see it?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean opened the door and escorted him inside.  The interior was amazing.  Thoroughly modern, but comfortable and inviting.  The kitchen was open along the back wall for the diners to be able to see the staff as they worked.  The lighting was cheery without being too bright or too dim.  One wall was exposed brick and the others were warm blue and green colors.  And on those walls…

“My art…” Castiel said numbly.

Castiel didn’t paint as much as he used to, but there had been a time when he’d dreamed about supporting himself with his art.  There had also been a point between six and four years ago that he gotten really into painting and drawing unique and interesting aspects of the New York City subway system.  Tunnels and signs and the subway cars themselves.  He’d painted about a dozen, of all sizes, and they were all stored at Garrison Galleries.  The storage room at the gallery could only be accessed if one had the code to get into it, so someone couldn’t even borrow a key sneakily.  Someone would have had had to been told the code by an employee to have access to the art.  Castiel laughed.  His friends were such sneaky assholes.

Suddenly, the laughter turned to tears.

“Oh, shit.  What did I do?  Do you hate it?  Are you mad?  Fuck!  Balthazar said you would like it!  I can put it back.  I can—”

Castiel threw his arms around Dean’s neck and silenced him with a kiss.  “Thank you.  It’s amazing.  I can’t believe you’d want such bad art on your classy restaurant walls!”

Dean exhaled in relief.  “Shit man, don’t scare me like that.  Of course I like your art.  Besides.  The place isn’t _that_ classy.”

Dean smirked and Castiel made a face at him.

“Come on, angel.  One more thing to see.”

Dean led them back into the kitchen, giving him a quick tour, and then led him up a back stairway to the second floor.

“Did you never wonder why I was so crazy and asked for two floors?”

Castiel shrugged.  “I just figured you’d need it for storage or offices.”

Dean smiled and shook his head.  He handed Castiel a set of keys.

“Open the door.”

Castiel unlocked the plain door in the dimly lit hallway, and swung it open.  When he’d first seen it, it had been a dusty mess of cobwebs and abandoned furniture and boxes.  Now it was clean and filled with sunlight as the windows had been polished and the dirty curtains replaced with neutral beige ones that went well with the light green of the walls.  He walked through the rooms in shock, seeing an updated kitchen and several other renovations that had vastly improved the space.  There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the rooms, but it was apparent that it was now an apartment.  He turned to face Dean and saw behind the man was the long oil painting of Dean’s eyes mounted on a wall.  It was the painting he had done from memory and his imagination.  The painting that looked like it had been done from life.

“This is ours,” Dean said, with a soft, shy smile.  “If you still want to live together.”

Cas nodded, unable to form words.  Dean walked close and hugged him.

“This is our home, over our restaurant.  Do you think you could be happy here?”

“Anywhere you are,” Castiel said with a trembling voice.

“Hey, come on, now.  No more crying.  You’ll ruin your palette.  And I need you to be in tip top shape as you are going to be Subway Car’s first patron.”

Castiel smiled and wiped away his tears.  He was led downstairs again and enjoyed watching Dean through the cutaway as he prepared lunch for them.  It was, of course, the best burger he’d ever had in his life.  And the seasoning on the fries was unlike anything he’d had before.  The fries weren’t even a side; they were a star dish in their own right.

While Dean was preparing dessert, Castiel’s phone buzzed in his pocket.  His eyebrows rose when he saw the message from the young man he’d managed to get in contact with earlier in the week.  He asked him if he could meet at Garrison Galleries in an hour.  The man agreed.

When Dean returned with dessert, an odd synthesis of chocolate cake and pie (which was actually much better than Castiel had been expecting), he also had two glasses of champagne.  Castiel gamely clinked glasses with Dean as he took another bite of the chocolate decadence in front of him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Cas said, “I appreciate the special treatment, but weren’t you saving this champagne for after opening night?”

“Thought we’d need to celebrate today.”

“Why?”

Dean held up his hand.  In between his thumb and index finger was a gold ring.  Castiel stared at it dumbly for a moment, and then his breath hitched.  He looked up at Dean, feeling dizzy.

“Are you—”

“Marry me?”

“I—you—marry…”

Dean bobbed his head a little.  “Not the best syntax, but yeah, that.”

“Yes!”

Dean grinned and picked up Castiel’s left hand.  Just before he could slip the ring on, Castiel curled his fingers up tight.  Dean looked up in surprise.

“What?”

“If I marry you, will you let me paint you?”

Dean let out a noise.

“In the nude?”

Dean blushed.  Then swallowed.  Then ducked his head and nodded.  Castiel smiled and unfurled his fingers.  Dean slid the ring onto his third finger and Castiel pulled his hand back to admire it.  The ring was completely flat, but there was a break in the band where a baguette diamond had been inserted.

“It’s beautiful.  And so are you.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“And while I don’t have a ring for you in return, I might have something better.”

Dean gave a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows.  “Oh yeah?  There’s not a bed upstairs yet but the kitchen counters could use a test run.”

Castiel shook his head.  “No, not yet.  We’re going to Garrison.”

Dean’s face fell.  “Now?  Can’t we, you know, ‘celebrate our love’ or whatever?”

“Of course.  But, we need to be at Garrison by two o’clock.”

“Did you paint a new piece?”

“No.”

“So, what is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Dean and Castiel were about fifteen minutes late getting to the gallery.  A childish swipe of chocolate across Castiel’s neck so that Dean could lick it off devolved into mutual blow jobs in the not-even-open-yet restaurant’s kitchen.  Castiel had teased Dean that he was going to start out with a B rating from the health department.

When they reached the gallery, Hannah informed him that she’d shown his guest to the break room.  He thanked her and led Dean to the back, all the while flashing his left hand around as he gushed about the décor of the Subway Car.  Hannah smirked; apparently she’d been in on it too.  But she didn’t quite clue in to the ring until he pointed it out to her.  She squealed and gave them awkward hugs.  She was almost as awkward around people as Castiel had been when he’d first entered college after being homeschooled all his life.

When they got to the break room, Castiel opened the door and gestured for Dean to enter.  He looked confused for a moment as Castiel stayed back by the door, but then a voice said tremulously, “Dean?”

Dean turned his head.  He stared at the tall man with longish hair standing in front of them.  There was a moment of intense silence, and Castiel felt uneasy as he wondered if he’d done the right thing.  And then…

“Sammy?”

“Dean!”

The young man lunged forward and gathered Dean up in a hug.  Dean returned it just as fiercely, laughing, and from the sound of it, crying a little bit.

“Holy shit!  When did you get so freaking tall?!”

Sam Wesson née Winchester hugged his long lost brother back fiercely.  Castiel stepped back and shut the door, giving the brothers some privacy.

“What’s going on?” Hannah asked as she couldn’t help but peer through the tiny window in the door.

“Dean lost his parents when he was thirteen years old.  He and his younger brother were close, but when they were put into foster care, they were put into separate homes.  Sam was only nine, so the family that took him in eventually adopted him.  Dean was a teenager, and kids that age rarely stay in one home for longer than six months.  When he aged out of the system, he went looking for Sam, but the family had moved away and Dean never saw him again.  He’d never finished high school, he had no job, and he had nowhere to go.  He managed to survive on the streets for a couple of years, but…he was starting to lose hope of ever seeing Sam again and wondered if life itself was worth the trouble of living.”

“And then you came along.”

Castiel shrugged modestly.  “And then I came along.  After he told me about his brother, and it took a long time for him to open up about him, I contacted my friend who works for the city’s Child Protective Services.  He owed me a favor, so he may have cracked open a sealed file for me.  And I found Sam.”

Hannah smiled, tears glistening in her eyes as she watched the two brothers speak excitedly and gesticulate wildly.

“You’re an angel, Castiel.  The real kind who loves…humanity itself.”

Castiel smiled.  “A selfish angel though.  For humanity is defined as only one man for me.”

He caught Dean’s eye as he glanced at him through the window.  Dean gave him a small nod, which Castiel returned, and then returned to his brother.  But in that small gesture was all the love and admiration and respect and need that bound them together.


End file.
